


Run Rabbit Run

by Whelan_n_Dealin



Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/F, Lesbian Character, Not Canon Compliant, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-15 01:15:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13602495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whelan_n_Dealin/pseuds/Whelan_n_Dealin
Summary: Serena Campbell and Bernie Wolfe WWII AU. Bernie is an Ex FANY and Kings Medical College Graduate, Serena is an experienced British Intelligence Agent. Both women are recruited by the Special Operations Executive and are determined to do anything they can to win the war on, or off, the home front. Initial disagreements soon lead to a relationship wrought out of necessity. Will they learn to love each other in crisis?





	1. Rabbit

**Author's Note:**

> Go easy on me kids, this may be my first time publishing fan fic...
> 
> I have a minor *major* (excuse the pun) obsession with WWII so I thought I'd try and incorporate that into this world. Bare with me because it may be a bit of a slow burn, however, one most definitely worth the wait...
> 
> Very open to feedback and kudos my friends, judge warmly. xx

Reaching for her pack of fags and "Bundles for Britain" matchbook, Captain Wolfe exasperatedly hummed the old familiar "Run Rabbit Run" on her breath as she finally threw herself onto her single bed. Well, cot more like. Many wouldn't think much of it but for a woman owning one pair of unopened Parisian silk tights, infantry basics and a wardrobe belonging predominantly to her late husband she thought the cot suited her quite well enough, thank you very much. "When you live above a pub aptly named 'The Whining Pig' I doubt you should ask for more" she thought as she unbuttoned the collar of her starched shirt and lit her cigarette.

The grained echo of Ralph Hill droning on "The Essence of Brahms" was interrupted by a voice Bernie had, quite happily, heard little from over the past few months:

"I am speaking to you from the Cabinet Room at 10 Downing Street." The Prime Minister's voice never ceased to remind Bernie of her father's childhood scoldings.

"This morning the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German Government a final note stating that, unless we hear from them by 11 o'clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us. I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany."

At War. With Germany.

At. War.

Bernie didn't know how long she'd been watching the rain trickle through a crack in her roof and onto the floor but the remnants of her cigarette were now scattered across her bedspread as she began to register a loud banging coming from the landing by her front door. At first confused for a searing headache induced by one too many whiskeys with a colleague downstairs the night before, Bernie was awoken from her haze by a familiar voice calling her name.

"WOLFE!"

No one could mistake the sound. No one in all Shilton. "At this rate" Bernie thought, "all Great Britain", could mistake the sound of Jac Naylor yelling at the top of her lungs in the middle of the night.

"WOLFE! OPEN THE SODDING DOOR!"

"Now" Bernie answered as she opened the door at a far more leisurely pace than Jac could surely handle, "I'm going to venture a guess that you aren't here to fix the leak then."

"And I'm going to venture a guess that you haven't bathed in a couple of weeks. Try a Brillo."

"Touché. However, you will find, being such an exceptionally accomplished landlord, that I haven't had running water up here since oh…three days after I moved in. I've complained more over a rubbish shag than issues with this room and between you and me" Bernie retorted "I need only one hand to count the former…. well…one finger technically". At this Bernie pressed her index finger to Jac's lips and chuckled as her face whitened.

"A Telegram. From London." At this she turned on her heel and stormed down the stairs.

"Oh and by the way," she called back up the stairs once she was out of view "we're at war. Don't do anything stupid."

Bernie knew exactly how to ruffle Jac's feathers. It wasn't popular knowledge that acceptance into Kings College Medical School seduced Bernie to new worlds and ideas she never thought she'd be able to explore and, through which, found another form of seduction in Jac. What started as a marriage of intellect and long nights of conversation soon turned to something more important to both. On the death of Jac's parents she was called home to run "The Whining Pig" in her father's place and her dreams of a medical career were thwarted. As for Bernie, there was nowhere else she could go after leaving school and, despite the love they once had now turned to dust and sarcasm, she knew Jac would be lost without her presence in her life. Lonely and alone. It suited them well.

Bernie wandered over to the forest green chaise she'd inherited from the previous tenant and proceeded to open the telegram.

POST OFFICE

TELEGRAM

CAPTAIN BERENICE WOLFE

THE WHINING PIG, SHILTON, WEST OXFORDSHIRE, OX18

DEAREST BERNIE

GETTING MARRIED

COME TO THE WEDDING

HAVE TOLD ARTHUR MUCH ABOUT YOU

THEY SAY THERE WILL BE WAR AGAIN

DON'T GO DOING ANYTHING STUPID

MISS YOU SAVAGELY

Bernie knew Morven was a beautiful and infectiously bright young woman but impulsive was something she was sure she wasn't. Who was this Arthur chap? Bernie had always been very protective of Morven since their first meeting at the enlistment for the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry (FANYs). She'd always been drawn to medicine and knew she had the focus and capacity in the field, however, women of her class did not study medicine (or so her father thought). Women in her class, as was drilled regularly during all 13 of her years in boarding school, sewed pin-cushions, played croquet and waited in line at the church in their white dresses before relegating themselves to the kitchen pantry and the care of a John, Dick or Harry. Morven was the first person who befriended Bernie without judgment when she enlisted and, so, many nights were spent trawling the streets of Paris for new company and delicious wine (or Whiskey in Bernie's case) before crawling bleary-eyed to Saint-Antoine the next morning. It was Morven, in fact, who she still credits for the final push into studying medicine at Kings College (much to the chagrin of her father).

Bernie dropped the telegram into the coal fire - a cool September gale whistled through the paned window as she grabbed her husband's Greatcoat and prepared herself for a night by the fire and the promise of another whiskey-doused morning. Her eyelids grew heavy as the last of her cigarette once more found the floor and fond memories of the Yeomanry and Morven floated back to her. God, she missed it.

*****

As quickly as the announcement came Bernie had forgotten a war had even been waged. From the expectation of heavily postered streets and telegrams from her superiors requesting a return to service to endless articles in the local tribune mentioning how the, now "Phoney War" may affect the odd civilian carrot patch.

That didn't stop Bernie from looking to the sky in the anticipation of spitfires and raids every time she stepped out on her short stroll to work. As tragic as it was, Bernie knew she yearned to return. Her services and promotion to the position of Captain in the FANYS (after many late-night munition drops and convoys full of injured infantry delivered safely to L'Hôpital Lamarck where they were primarily stationed) were wasted on rabbit trap injuries and senility that, unfortunately, could not be helped. She knew it and, sadly, as did her superior at the small clinic that acted as a small hospital as often as it did a grocery store, post office and community hall when required. When Bernie first arrived in Shilton many were grateful for a doctor with a Kings College level of knowledge so few acknowledged the fact that she was a woman. She dressed predominantly in her husband's old wardrobe so many of the more infirm did not see her as a woman at all. Bernie relished in the invisibility and laughed to herself when Mr Thompson would come in for his weekly insulin injection and walk out doffing his cap to 'Captain Bernard' for his hard work.

She missed London. Maybe this wedding would prove more fruitful than anticipated.


	2. Babylon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serena is introduced as a Special Operative who, with the assistance of Robbie, takes on an entirely new commission to assist in the war effort. Will she agree and how does Bernie tie into her critical new task?
> 
> **Only a little bit of Robbie - slow-burn leading to Bernie and Serena meeting.
> 
> Thank you all for the kudos! They keep me writing :)

As she reapplied her lipstick in the reflection of the café window, she was mighty grateful the express Paris to London Night Ferry had arrived half an hour early. This was an appointment she couldn’t miss and if she’d have to construct her own means of getting to London overnight with twine, Elmer’s paste and a good dose of shiraz then she bloody well would’ve. As she returned her ‘Rouge Baiser’ (posh and a little too over budget for her liking) to her red leather satchel, she turned for one final appraisal in the window reflection before grabbing her case to meet her contact on the platform. “Oh sod it Campbell, who are you trying to impress” she whispered to herself as she left her payment on the table before leaving.

“Contact” – she hadn’t thought much of the word in the last couple of months but she supposed it was only fitting considering they hadn’t been married for nearly a year now. Despite being the reason she’d left London and her home in the first place she was suddenly startled by how quickly she could disconnect that part of her life from the importance of what she was about to undertake. Those years of cold winter nights traipsing along the Champs Elysee in search of another warm, smoke –clad café to escape into, languid days in bed with nothing but warm, desperate skin contact to sustain them and muddled conversation with locals only too happy to ‘Au Revoir” their exceptionally British patrons were now a thing of the past and she had to admit, she was definitely anxious to see him again. She had nothing but fond memories and despite warm, passionate kisses turning to cold conclusions, Serena knew she would be in good hands. She knew this was the right decision. It had to be. She was there and there was no turning back now. 

She once more checked the station clock. 08:05. He was never late. Typically, as soon as this thought entered her mind she was startled back to reality by a voice calling her name from across the crowd of khaki recruits and kerchief-waving wives.

“CAMPBELL!”

She shot around quickly and returned the greeting with equal enthusiasm.

“ROBBIE!”

He was quickly by her side and squeezing her with, what felt like, an entire year’s worth of exuberance. 

“My god Campbell…you haven’t changed a bit.” He said as he took in her new green tweed skirt suit, beret and blush that he was sure wasn’t department store bought. 

“And you have never sold me a lie before. I suppose there is a first time for everything.”

“Not everything” he retorted with a wink before picking up her case and moving swiftly back through the now heavily populated crowd. 

“Robbie.”

“As lovely as it is to see you again Campbell, I unfortunately must insist that you stop using my Christian name in public.”

“What?” 

As quickly as he moved through the crowd, Robbie swivelled around to catch Serena by the waste and whisper in her ear. 

“Don’t be alarmed, there is little to no threat here. Well, yet.” 

“Threat? Robbie?”

“Patience old girl.” with that he planted a sound kiss on her cheek, took one last scan of the crowd who may have been watching them and returned to his venture. 

*****

He had become cautious, Serena thought as the taxi sped down The Mall before making a quick turn into Charing Cross. Robbie wasn’t someone who was easily shaken but Serena could sense the tension ,that she was definitely not the cause of, coursing through him as they pulled into Craven Street. 

The car stopped in front of an old Georgian and Robbie escorted Serena from the car and paid the driver before moving inside. Serena stepped through the door with her case and quickly took in her startlingly decrepit surrounds before being shewed down a flight of stairs and into a large cellar. 

“Robbie if you’re telling me we came here for the sole purpose of a good bottle of plonk then, as much as I won’t attest to a glass of Shiraz right now, I have too many questions for that so can we please just –“

With this, almost in response, Robbie moved toward one of the dusty casks, rolled up his sleeves and proceeded to move the great thing aside, followed by another and one final cask to join it’s comrades in the damp corner of the room. 

“A door…naturally." she scoffed "But what –“ 

“After you.” He lightly offered as he unlocked the door swinging open to reveal another large space and the sudden echoing sound of typewriters, mulled chatter and morse clacking away to match an indecipherable rhythm. 

Serena stepped through and was immediately transported back to her days as an operative under MI6. She had been waiting to return, waiting for the call but with the small remunerations and restoration of peace after the War she was sure her services wouldn’t be needed again. She was sure this was it and peace would finally prevail. However, as much happiness and security as that idea brought, her purpose after the war had been shot to pieces. She had been so vital in gathering information and moving troops out of Belgium that, along with her many post-war accolades, she had claimed something else for her efforts, something more important to her. A name. A name she hoped would support her through another war to come and return her to the love of her life. Her work. 

“Well if it isn’t Madame Foxtrot herself…the prodigal child returns” 

“Child? Heaven forbid!” She couldn’t mistake his voice anywhere and by god she had missed it. 

“H. It is good to see you still have some fight in you after all these years” she retorted

“Well if I go down who will win the war for us?”

“And that is where I submit, sir.” She playfully subjected. 

“ 'Chief' I’ll have you know, and don’t misunderstand me when I say it has been a long time coming.”

“And again…I can not disagree with you there.” She chuckled back at him.  
And with a quick fond smile and an ushering from Robbie, the three of them moved into a side room occupied by one great desk, an assortment of, what Serena assumed were, tracking maps, a German dictionary and a leather satchel with a lock. They took a seat as H offered the two of them a cigarette before lighting his own and moving to the end of the table. 

“Now. What I am about to tell you is strictly confidential under the SIS and appropriate protocol must be maintained should we proceed.”

“I understand H. I will sign and submit a full disclosure if you require. Any assessments you need to-” 

“I’m afraid what we are asking you to do is a little more covert than that.” He said as he quickly glanced at Robbie before turning his smoke-shielded, unblinking attention back to Serena. 

“With your previous experience in intelligence and counter-intelligence, we thought you’d be the best candidate-“

“You’re the only candidate Serena. The only who survived-“ Robbie interjected. 

“Best candidate? For what exactly?”

“An Operation. We are naming it 'Babylon'.” he paused while taking a deep drag of his cigarette "It is Vichy ,S, Vichy has fallen and we need your help to extract our recruits for the length and breadth of the, god willing, short battle we are now embarking upon." 

“Babylon … but I haven’t-“

“You haven’t undertaken a covert operation in years. Yes, this I understand, however I’m afraid you have no choice Campbell.” 

“No choice. I volunteered to assist but a covert operation on French borders under Vichy…I refuse to go back there H.” 

“According to our records you are still under the service of D Section for MI5 is this correct?” He asked clinically.

“Yes, ofcourse.” 

“These sections have now been absorbed by the SOE. The Spec-“

“Special Operations Executive…yes I know it…Churchill's pride. I mean I-I-I’ve heard of it.” She interjected incredulously as she stood and walked over to the door trying to regain her composure and find some air in this ever increasingly closeted room. 

“May I continue, S?” He asked as she clutched the door handle for support. 

“Yes…please. I’m sorry I just – I was actually excited to return but I can’t go back, not under these conditions and certainly not there. Anything else. Anywhere else, H. You want me to hold a revolver to Hitler’s god damn head and I’ll do it. Not this again. We lost everyone - everyone ”  
As the smashing of a bottle of wine was heard in the next room, the silence between H, Serena and Robbie only deepened. 

“And you survived. You survived Campbell.”

“I’ll go grab us some tea, shall I?” Robbie knew if Serena was going to agree to this that it was best done without any further distraction. 

“Yes, thank you M.” and on that he left the room. “Serena.” He said with a delicate fondness he only bestowed upon select few and rarely in public. “if I had another option for you, if I had another placement and this wasn’t all coming from the top down then I absolutely would. But I am afraid this is out of my hands now. They need you.”

“Then go ahead.” She hadn’t uttered his full name in years and she could see the immediate recoil it spurred in her colleague.

“We have special operatives planted in Paris and on the border of the Free Zone conducting tests and forming alliances with local sectors. They are gathering critical information we believe may greatly assist the movement of ally troops in and out of these zones within the next few months. We need you to assist in the movement of these agents between their drop-off zones and once more back across the channel as soon as their operations are complete.” 

“You want me to escort agents out of Vichy…alone?” 

“Not entirely alone. You will be assisted….”

“Assisted? By whom? A hoard? H, we are standing against a sea with only a paddle and a sinking boat, how in the hell do you expect me to bring them back?”

“Well, we most certainly aren’t going to drop you in without a cover.” With this he pulled out a set of keys which he used to unlock the satchel now ominously placed on the desk. 

“What’s this?” Serena asked as he threw a rather large envelope in her direction. 

“Your cover. S, I’d like to introduce you to Marie Passard, acting chief nurse at L’Hopital Saint Antoine and Consultant at L’Hopital Jacques Lacarin.”

“A Nurse?! You’ve got to be joking.”

“The SOE believes that the best way to move our agents is to do it in plain sight. You will inter them as patients and they will be escorted back under the watchful eye of your team who will also be acting doctors, nurses and surgeons. Neither Vichy nor Gestapo, nor SS will voluntarily attack a medical vehicle. This is the safest way. ” 

“There is not a chance in this world anyone is going to believe I am a nurse. I had to be taught how to apply a plaster sufficiently on 5 separate occasions as a child. No.” 

“As I mentioned, you will be assisted” he slowly explained. 

“Ahhhhh….Robbie.”

“Not quite what I meant but, yes. We have signed Robbie on as an RAF Telegraphic Officer. His aviation experience will prove very useful for mapping enemy movement across the channel and further down from Belgium.” 

“Right.” 

“More importantly we have found a potential ground contact for you who has vast medical experience and will be able to train you before we extract.”

“Who?”

“I’m afraid I can’t reveal that information just yet but you will both be escorted into Vichy two months from tomorrow. You have this time and this time only to be trained in the necessary skill to produce the required cover. I need you to accept this, Serena.” He implored.

She had suffered many long, hungry exhaustive hours defending “Great Britannia” so much that very little shook her British Reserve these day but this, this truly frightened her. She didn’t want to give away her fear but at least in her previous encounters with war she’d had years of preparation and knew exactly what she was doing. If anything went wrong under her watch it was not the fault of her skill or knowledge but that of the enemy and their foresight. In this circumstance, she could predict a much larger room for error, error that may not be worth the risk. She may have the lives of dozens (let’s hope not hundreds) in her ,otherwise, capable hands so she had to make a decision. 

“Who is this contact?” At this Robbie re-entered the room with a steaming tray of tea and jam biscuits.

“Ah perfect timing. M mentioned that you would be attending a wedding shortly for a mutual friend.”

“Yes…Morven…I don’t know what this has to do with –“ 

“Morven has already been briefed. Nothing pending and you'll meet your contact at the wedding. We need you to meet in a public place, unassuming and predictable, hence the setting. Your contact will introduce themselves to you and ask you how the weather was in Edinburgh last week to which you will reply ‘cold but not unpleasant I suppose’. Once you have been confirmed you will receive further correspondence and you both will be immediately moved to the location of your training.” At this a knock sounded on the door and a buxom young brunette with thick glasses burst through the door.

“I’m so sorry Sir but… we’ve received correspondence from him.” 

“Right. On that note, here is all of the information and supplies you need and the key necessary to open it. If anything happens S, you must destroy this case as a matter of priority in any way possible. There is a letter inside with some more information on your contact to assist in the transition. Oh and Campbell….don’t do anything stupid.” At this he gave Robbie a quick glance and returned to Serena once more to plant a quick awkward kiss on her forehead before rushing out the door. 

“What have I gotten myself into Robbie?”

“I only wish I could be there for you every step of the way but I will stay in communication with H who will relay any information I gather from my operations straight back to you. You will not be in the dark Serena, we wouldn’t leave you.” With this he pulled her in once more for a rib-breaking squeeze before grabbing her case and ushering them out of the cellar. 

Before she knew it they were back in the taxi and on her way to the hotel she’d be staying in for the much anticipated wedding in a few days. It only took an hour – how much can change in an hour. She’d wanted this for so long but how desire can be so easily manipulated. Curiosity seemed to get the best of her as she tangled her necklace around her fingers, winding, unwinding, winding again. She pulled the contact envelope out of the satchel and carefully beneath her coat broke the seal and pulled out the letter. 

“Information my arse” she whispered to herself as she scrunched the letter and threw it out the window with one thing now branding itself in her mind. ‘B’

Just one letter. ‘B.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "B" and "S" to meet in the coming chapters at the wedding and what an interesting introduction that will be. Stay tuned everyone. 
> 
> The historical war facts in these chapters are as accurate as my research provides (so....mostly accurate haha). The Vichy government ran everything south of the town Vichy and were Nazi sympathisers hence why being planted in Vichy as an Operative during the war was very dangerous and very serious business. 
> 
> If you have any questions or comments feel free to ask :)


	3. London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes after a long and necessary delay. I apologise friends! This isn't the all important meeting of our heroines just yet but some important information is shared in order to make that meeting possible. I hope the history lesson isn't too chunky and everyone is still following along with this path of the journey. Hope you enjoy it, if you do please leave a comment it really does keep me writing :)

"And what size shoe do you take, ma'am?" 

"Sorry, what?" Awoken from her daze by a sharp pin in her ankle, Bernie was now regretting letting Jac book her in to see a tailor before the wedding. Despite insisting on rehashing her old wedding suit that, as she described it, was still in "fit and fine working order, thank you very much", Jac simply responded, "You really are a piece of work" as she flipped through her mother's address book. 

"Ah...a 9?" she questioned as if she'd never bought a pair of shoes for herself, let alone been into a dress shop before. She chuckled at the thought that perhaps this was the first time she'd bought her own shoes. She was, if anything, nothing short of utilitarian and she liked to keep it that way with her AF distributed combat boots and her single pair of low heel oxfords for military funerals and special occasions. She never could justify selfish spending. So she didn't. When she married Marcus, it was in the local Town Hall with only five other people in attendance; a college friend of Marcus's and their parents. They both wore suits and there wasn't a floral arrangement in sight. 

"Right." The shopkeeper exasperatedly exhaled as she turned on her heel and marched to the back of the store. 

She settled on a navy blue silk pant suit with a pair of black Oxfords and a peter-pan collared white blouse. 'Very Katherine Hepburn, it's all the rage in America', she was told by the shop assistant who seemed reassured by Bernie's forged smile that she knew exactly who she was talking about. She organised to have the suit delivered to the hotel the day before the wedding (she didn't need the reminder), clocked the time and made a swift exit. She never liked to keep anyone waiting, let alone one of her dearest friends. 

*****

London had changed since the last time Bernie traipsed down it’s cobbled streets. The damp stones, excited bustle and lazy dreams of sunshine now gave way to a melancholic fog like one befallen a family on the loss of a matriarch. As Bernie entered the hotel, however, it was as if stepping into technicolor. Imported floral arrangements befitted every corner of polished white marble as laughter and the perfume of cakes, tea and rouge married perfectly to infuse the air and whisk her back to another time. After searching the lobby to no avail she finally spotted Morven enthusiastically waving her down from across the tea room.

“I didn’t think you’d come!” she exclaimed as she pulled Bernie in for a bone-shattering embrace.

“Good start. Thanks a lot for the vote of confidence-“

“No, well, you know how it is Bern…how it was. I’m sorry.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “I’ve missed you. I really have.” At this she started to see tears well up in Morven’s eyes and knew that if she started then Bernie didn’t stand a chance. 

“As I have you, my darling.”

The last time Bernie saw her friend was on less than agreeable terms. The aftermath of the first war and her return from France caused Bernie to fall into a darkness from which she could not imagine, or want, a return. War gave her a clear and defined purpose. She had a job to do that was serving a greater cause. This, in her mind, was justifiable. A job to procreate a more capital need? Now that she couldn’t quite justify anymore. So she fell deeper and deeper, eventually cutting herself off entirely. If Morven hadn’t of fished her out of her own vomit and excess, cleaned her up and popped her on a train straight to Shilton and back to the only person who could care for her then she may not have survived the stint. So why and how Morven was here and in such high spirits in her company was beyond her. 

“Now, before you say anything…congratulations M. Champagne on me. Now, tell me about him-this 'Arthur' chap! Does he scrub up or do we have to do the scrubbing?” At this Morven grabbed Bernie by the hands and, holding them in hers, took her gaze for a little longer than Bernie felt comfortable with.

“Morven?” 

“I-there is something I must talk to you about first. I am so very happy you are here for the wedding I really am but...I have to confess something-“

“What? What do you need? Are you in trouble- is it ARTHUR? Are you-“

“No no no no Bernie, don’t be silly” she chuckled at Bernie's incessant motherly concern, quite a surprise for someone sans children and an otherwise non-existent instinct for nurture “I just…I’ve brought you here for a reason. Something has happened since I sent you the telegram so I have to confess I am more than glad you are now here and we can speak in person. There is no one else I could possibly- I mean, I think you are incredible and I’m sure you’d be more than capable but...ummm-“ she stumbled as Bernie felt her palms start to sweat. 

“Out with it girl. Come on” she insisted, beginning to worry. 

Morven took a deep breath, a sip from her water glass on the table and began.

“I have been approached to occupy a position in assistance of the war effort.”

“The FANYs! Are you thinking of rej-“

“Not the FANYs, Bernie. Please listen as I can only say this once.”

“Sorry.” Bernie uttered through her fringe and unabashed gaze. She’d never seen Morven so serious, she was used to the unbreakable smile and light she brought to any conversation, however, this was a state she’d never encountered of her friend. 

“It is a training position that would have me accompany more covert recruits of a 'different' division into the field. Well…” she paused “into Vichy.”

“Vichy!? I don’t understand-“

“I’m not finished.” She said as she quickly scanned her surrounds before returning Bernie’s gaze.

“Righto” Bernie interjected.

“The position would commence in two weeks. Enough time to gather provisions and prepare for the training of anywhere between one and twenty recruits. I would be transported to Scotland for this training and flown directly into Vichy once it is sufficiently complete to escort the recruits directly to the allocated field hospital for…how do I say this, ummm…supervision...and extraction.”

She’d expelled the information so quickly that it took Bernie a moment to catch up. Suddenly feeling slightly winded, it didn’t take much to piece together what Morven was suggesting.

“And you want me to go with you?”

Morven finally broke eye contact and ducked her head so Bernie was faced with nothing but a beautiful ivory hair clasp adorning her friend’s coiffed hair. 

“I – well, no. Bernie…I’m in love.”

“Aren’t we all” Bernie scoffed, surprising herself with the sharpness of her cynicism. “No I mean, that’s…fantastic darling.” 

“No Bernie, I’m not quite sure you understand. I am in love and I am getting married.”

“Go figure.”

“Bernie, please. I am getting married and I can’t leave - I mean, I can't imagine leaving this man. I love him so much and it doesn’t feel real what we have just yet. I am so afraid that if I leave I won’t return or he will vanish into thin air like some kind of dream or bubble or something naff like that. This beautiful, goofy, smart, wonderful human.” 

At this Bernie could see she wasn’t taking her for a ride. Her friend was in love and there was no mistaking the signs. Bernie had seen love like that before, she had felt love like that before. Many years ago.

“And…?”

“And, well, I-"

“I’m greying.” Bernied droned.

“I was hoping you would take my place. It’s…it’s for the SOE Bernie. This is not to be taken lightly.”

“Morven I-“ and with this a porter swept over to their table in search of Morven and before she knew it she was standing, bag and coat in hand.

“Great! I have to run off to the bridal shop to pick up a few things that have just arrived but here is the contact, I’ve already told him everything and he will brief you on collecting your paperwork and assets. Oh! And one more thing. You burnt your bridges and your crumbs Bernie, they would’ve approached you first otherwise. You are, and were, always the best. Don’t forget that.” With this she handed her a small envelope. "Call him tonight."

“I haven’t said-“

“Thank you my dear dear friend! This means the world to Arthur and I.” and with that she was gone. 

“Bugger. What to do with you old girl.” she muttered to herself while hailing a waiter and ordering scotch on the rocks for the road. She figured one won’t hurt and by god she needed it. 

*****

Crashing through the door of her hotel room and collapsing on the sofa, she always did question why she could never bring herself to sleep in a real bed. She leaned over to the cocktail trolley and, in full stretch, managed to grab the bottle of Angel’s Envy with one hand before picking up the telephone receiver in the other. She fumbled to open the envelope Morven had given her and upon reading the number proceeded to dial. She almost hung up once the exchange had connected her but was stopped by a familiar voice.

"Wolfe? I had tuppence on never hearing from you again." 

Marcus. She couldn't mistake his voice for the world.

"Marcus?! I’m calling you from a public line surely this isn't safe all things considered and-"

"Wolfe this line, I'll have you know, is more proudly secure than the line between his royal highness and the Prime Minister himself and I-"

"Ok ok...Marcus. Just tell me what you have for me. What is this?"

"You'll receive a note first thing tomorrow morning."

"I thought you said this was a secure line? It's like cat and bloody mouse trying to get information here."

"Nothing to be alarmed by at this stage - has Morven briefed you?"

"No…well, yes I suppose."

"Right. You are attending the wedding, yes? Your contact-"

"Contact? I was under the impression this was an established enterprise." 

"Yes, well - not quite - we need you in a slightly more involved position than initially interpreted" 

"Right. Well, you know my patience for that-"

"Yes, quite." 

"Marcus I-"

"I know, Bernie. We'll be able to talk later. Oh and Bernie?"

"Yes?"

"Best to dress appropriately...if you catch my drift..." he never could find peace with Bernie's wardrobe choices, even when they were married they resembled more of a matching vaudevillian troupe than a couple. 

"Well." 

"I suppose I'll be seeing you then." 

"This contact - can I have a name at least before we meet?" 

"It’s S. That’s all you need to know. Oh and, make sure you are liquid before the evening is out. We may need you to move sooner than anticipated. Until then, Wolfe.”

And with that the line went dead.


	4. A Marriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernie and Serena meet at Morven's Wedding - will they hit it off? See notes at the end for musical influences in this chapter and if you'd like to listen along while reading.

The ceremony was as to be expected on all accounts: beautiful, light and bloody long. The bride was blushing and the groom sweating. Naturally. After spending several hours in preparation and nearly running the gas meter into the ground with the longest bath she’d had since three days trapped in a broken-down Vulcan with a leaking roof in Tournai (the wettest town in Belgium), Serena was ready to get this thing over and done with. On receiving no further information about her contact ,except the insistence that she wear a red dress so she was easily sighted, she made her way back downstairs to the reception to finally seek out this infamous ‘B.’ The anxiety started gripping her as she descended the Georgian staircase into the ballroom amidst the slow and steadily increasing echo of clattering plates, alcohol-infused laughter and the sound of Ethel Waters on the gramophone. She suddenly wished herself anywhere but here hoping that her much anticipated counterpart was as nervous as she. 

There was something exceptional about Serena, however, that always delivered her safely through times of great adversity and that was her inherent ability to adapt, much like an aptly named chameleon, to any social situation with aplomb. She put it down to her mother’s discipline, remembering many childhood incidents’ of fleeing the wooden spoon to hide in her neighbour’s garden where she was often found hours later, nose in an Agatha Christie while tending to the matted hair of a local stray. It took Serena many years and slipping in and out of addiction to forgive her mother and come to terms with the effect her mother’s behaviour had on the adult she had become. She thanked her mother for her ability to endure through hardship (having to go days on a single tin of sardines and a thermos of coffee while transporting injured recruits from the Belgian border to Calais in the dark of night) and to maintain emotionally unattached, something that she truly prided herself on despite all the lovers quarrels that ensued. It was also her mother that she now thanked for her illustrious, albeit clandestine, career path. It was, after all, under her private tutelage that Serena began to piece together the skills that would have her plucked from a local council meeting and thrown into covert government operations. She had a voice on her and knew when and how to use it, something that could not be learnt or inherited. She was something else and everyone she met knew it. Whip smart and damned beautiful. A danger to all. 

She descended the last few stairs and entered the ballroom slowly scanning for, what she had previously coined, a ‘broach’. If her contact was, indeed, here then it wasn’t hard to assume they would also be looking for her, enough to be incapable of maintaining an in-depth conversation with anyone else in the room, these people were always easy to pluck from a crowd, hence: “broach”. This is where it always began. After several uncomfortable minutes and the realisation that sweat was beginning to bead on her upper lip, she quickly moved off to the bar. A drink, yes, brilliant start. It was also quite simple to deduce that between the reverend and the singular sound of a whining child, everyone would most definitely be imbibing at least once this evening. The bar was the best station for her, she concluded, and proceeded to order a glass of Shiraz from the elegant attendant. 

*****

Bernie had always been a light sleeper. Despite managing to develop the long sought after skill of being able to sleep in any position she was, and still is, very easily awoken. So, it was the morning of the wedding that the rattle of a door against its frame awoke the slumbering medic with a start. No amount of whiskey or late night serials would prevent this sensitivity. In fact, many a time she owed her life to it. She recalled one night, amidst the last counter-offensive of the war, a German section sneaking into their camp and attempting to plant mines in the fuel gaskets of their patient transport vehicles. She awoke to the sound of one poor private’s boot skidding in the mud outside her tent and registered the intrusion in time to quietly warn her comrades. There were no fatalities that night, she thanked her lucky stars.  
Bernie woke with a start, covered in sweat, as per usual, and turned to the door. Like a predator on the first sight of prey, she listened. No one ever got anywhere by running directly into canon fire. Patience always wins a war and if there was a threat here to her (already!?) then she wasn’t going to be caught empty handed.  
The door continued to rattle for a few moments before the muted sound of something being pushed under it instigated her to launch out of bed in investigation. True to the sound, she found an unmarked envelope at her door and made little work of picking it up and analysing its contents. 

I MET A FRIEND IN RED AT A WEDDING YESTERDAY. I ASKED ONLY ONE THING:

HOW WAS THE WEATHER IN EDINBURGH LAST WEEK?

TO WHICH MY FRIEND RESPONDED: COLD BUT NOT UNPLEASANT I SUPPOSE. 

It took her a moment to decipher the meaning of the telegram. There was no suggestion of who had sent it but it was most definitely addressed to her. The wedding was understandable but the weather in Edinburgh? Was she being taken for a ride? She took it to the shower and after a long and deliberate soak in preparation of the festivities she started to feel the intoxicating desire to flee fill her once more. She recognised it well. Before any great endeavour in her life she was, unfortunately, befallen the great inconvenience of having to fight her flight mode. It wasn’t for fear of herself that she battled but the fear of failure and becoming a danger to others that propelled her headfirst into this life long struggle. When she was a child she witnessed the death of her dearest boarding school friend. While she had nothing directly to do with the child’s death she, none the less, blamed herself for the event. What if? She always thought, what if? Unable to escape the darkness of that time, the experience, in turn, threw her down a rabbit hole of blame and rejection, abandoning all hope of connection again and drowning herself in self-loathing until she was too old to know the difference. She recalled one miserable day at King’s where, trapped inside due to ‘inconvenient weather’ preventing their ability to complete their ambulance training, Bernie and Jac proceeded to finish a bottle of their matron’s stolen brandy while hiding in a pantry cupboard in hopes of not being found out. Mind-bogglingly inebriated she proceeded to tell Jac about the girl and her guilt. 

“Did you love her?” Jac asked through a hiccup and a smile.

“Ofcourse! She was my f-friend, my best friend, my ONLY friend- and I-“ Bernie responded bleary-eyed.

“Bernie. Look at me. Did. You. Love her?” Jac pressed.

Since that conversation, since that day, the mechanics of what made Bernie who she was began to fall into place. Like screws, cogs, wheels and counter-weights, it all started to turn and fashion a new outlook, one Bernie had never considered, on her life. The guilt she carried was born from love, her first love and of course that is why she could never forgive herself. It made complete sense to her in reflection that, despite the peace she now found, she was still unable to fight that urge in times of crisis. So, she turned her attention elsewhere. 

After mentally stepping herself through how this evening would operate, she scrubbed herself dry, threw back a dram and turned to the closet to grab her suit. Something was still missing. A letter and a telelgram wasn’t enough to deduce who this person was. She presumed he would approach her but never thought to consider that she would need to instigate the conversation herself. She was utterly confused and running out of time.

Making quick business of dressing with little desire or need to impress, she reached for her cigarettes wishing she could phone Marcus to get a final answer re: the telegram and prayed that all doesn’t go to a quick and disastrous hell. “Guns blazing, Wolfe” she couldn’t believe she was giving herself a pep talk but if she was going to do this then she had to go in with a semblance of confidence. “Edinburgh it is…whatever that means.” she said as she put the finishing touches on her suit, still disastrous (in her mind), and tucked the telegram into the sole of her Oxfords.

Three-quarters of a bottle of Shiraz and a gin martini down and Serena was confidently sensing her contact had been corrupted, he’d jumped ship or she was being taken for a ride. If he wasn’t coming then ‘blast it’, Serena thought, she was going to enjoy herself. She devoured the final few sips of her glass in one and swivelled to the first gent she could spy, a gangly young sweaty thing whose pants were too short and suit jacket too long, grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to the dancefloor mid conversation. She wasn’t interested in the least but it gave her occupation in her intoxication and that is all she needed right now. If the boy was lucky she might even give him a kiss at evening’s end….if he was lucky. 

Benny Goodman’s ‘Sing, Sing, Sing’ blared through the gramophone and she began to spin. The boy, all the happier for it, seemed to know what he was doing and Serena, never a stranger to swing, began to move about the floor like she was heeding a great and urgent call. The room began to pulse and floor shake as the boy pressed himself closer to her, diving in and out of any space they could find. They brushed against the bride and groom themselves, looking as if Hitler himself could not tamp their joy. If this was all the evening came to then Serena was quite content with that. 

Just as she was finding her delicious rhythm and the last glass of Shiraz started to guide her folly, the song changed. Al Bowlly’s ‘The Very Thought of You’ began to perforate the hot, heaviness of the lively room, as the uncomfortable ritual of changing partners began. To Serena’s relief, her barely adult partner thanked her for the dance before moving quickly onto an equally lanky and more age appropriate ginger in the corner, leaving Serena marooned in the middle of the dance floor.  
Before she had time to pick-up her thoughts and return to the bar she was whisked up and into the arms of another partner. The room seemed to grow warmer and closer, despite the languid pace of the song, and Serena was pressed, without air, to her new partner, unable to distinguish features as she leant her chin on his shoulder for stability.  
‘The Very Thought of You’ had long been one of her favourite songs. She remembers hearing it for the first time in a café her mother often visited for her local committee meetings and feeling her skin vibrate as she lost herself in the music, despite the incessant hum of her mother’s voice droning out all external noise. Nothing had changed. Once more she became lost in the song and allowed herself, in her tipsy stupor, to close her eyes and be moved to the melody. It was then that she became more alert to her partner and his movements, beautifully mirroring her own in both rhythm and intention. He was tall, elegant and most definitely exceeded the skill of Serena’s previous partner as he effortlessly carried the two of them across the floor. She felt completely supported, his hand holding hers with a strong assurance and the other supporting her lower back with delicacy and confidence. Her pulse started to race and breath deepened as a blush, extending on the one caused by the dance, crept up her neck and flooded her cheeks. This was the first time she can remember, since childhood, feeling safe and happy, truly happy. In war. Naturally. 

Hoping her partner hadn’t noticed her reaction and quickly justifying it to herself as the Shiraz, she chuckled while the dancers started to slow again. She turned to the stranger, relinquishing the enchanting proximity they’d shared, to thank him. Before she could do so, however, he unclasped their hands and quickly fled through the crowd and out of sight leaving Serena once more stranded amongst the couples now anticipating the beginning of the next movement. ‘No manners’ she thought as she dived back through the crowd to the bar, praying for the imprint of the man’s strong and steady hold on her back to leave her memory before night’s end. 

*****

“And how long were you camped at Aubricq? You know I had a friend whose husband was on the Marne. He died, poor thing, but you know how it is. War is so cruel. I’m so glad I didn’t have to go, I’m not sure I could quite cope….I don’t know how you could have possibly done it….and as a WOMAN nonetheless, quite modern. Very modern.” After entering the ballroom and expecting to make quick business of her important exchange Bernie had, to her own dismay, been swept into the ever-changing wildcard of conversation with strangers that befalls anyone attending a wedding on the side of one party. “Oh Bernie, you must meet her, she is lovely but a lonely soul, just talk to her for me!” Morven, unfortunately, took great and sadistic pleasure in testing her love and Bernie adored that about her. She'd never admit it. 

As one war lesson and military babble quickly passed to the next…and the next, she started to worry about the likelihood of what tonight's festivities would bring. In the middle of describing a very unfortunate trip to the coast including a very close collision with a sentry to a group of avid tuxedos, Bernie caught sight of a red dress out of the corner of her eye and, turning, spied the brilliant smile and roaring laugh that accompanied it of a curvaceous brunette in the throes of swing, strapped to a young boy who, much like a suckling pup, looked completely out of his depth.  
By the looks of it she was too inebriated to pay much attention to the boy and enjoying herself far too much to care. Bernie couldn’t take her eyes away. She’d never been one to admire the physicalities of a woman but a woman she sure was and there was something about the way this particular woman moved. It was by no means graceful or elegant, her hair had fallen free of its clasps, sweat was pooling on her face and chest and her lipstick had been replaced by the stain of deep red wine. She was simply euphoric in the dance creating a kind of contagion Bernie couldn’t resist. As one of her partners attempted to bring her attention back to the conversation at hand Bernie heard the music shift and before she knew it she had abandoned her glass of whiskey and joined the lady in red on the floor, sweeping her into her arms before she knew what she was doing.  
She was going to take advantage of this moment while the room was close and no one was watching them. It really did feel as if they were quite alone in their revery as Bernie slipped her hand around the woman’s waist, pulling her in ever closer so she could not see her face. It wasn’t long until they were moving in complete synchronicity, shifting and weaving through the other couples on the floor absent-mindedly. She didn’t think to speak until the comfortability of silence between them started to frighten her and the desire to know who this woman was became deafening. She looked down, about to pull her away to introduce herself when it hit her. Red. She was wearing red and for some reason she seemed to be the only person at the reception wearing red tonight.  
“Its her.” Bernie thought before quickly unbinding them and suddenly realising how urgent her need for fresh air was. “How could you not have spotted that Wolfe?” She berated herself as she bolted outside reaching a lower balcony off the lobby and pulling out one of her cigarettes.

After another dram and the rattling sound of her final cigarette in it's case beckoning her to bed, another voice punctuated the cool night air. 

“Do you have another?”

She started and turned to see the brunette now approaching her from the warmth of the hotel, red in hand. 

“Afraid not, I don’t go lightly on these.” She said, turning back to her previous posture, afraid the light of the street lamp may betray her sex. ‘What does it matter Wolfe?’ she thought as the woman sidled up next to her resting her elbow on the ledge of the balcony and looking out into the night. 

“You’ve got quite a step.” The woman uttered before taking a large sip of her wine and turning to her partner. Bernie, now unable to avoid eye contact, turned to the stranger.  
“And you have quite a dress.” She said as she stared into the woman’s dark and rather telling eyes. She could see the shift as the woman clocked that she wasn’t speaking to a man, the intimate moment she had shared tonight was, in fact, with a woman. Bernie could see she was startled and a little frightened as she began to slowly move away from her. The woman turned to return to the party, attempting to construct an explanation in her mind but before she could Bernie grabbed her by the arm, the contact warm and welcome. The woman turned back around and faced Bernie square on.

“How was the weather in Edinburgh last week?”

“Cold but not unpleasant I suppose” she said as if answering a police enquiry, with which the woman returned to lean herself against the ledge. A long moment passed before she emitted a short chuckle.

“You came.” She finally whispered after a lengthy pause.

“And you’re late.” Serena uttered before finishing the last of her drink.

“We aren’t all used to making the first move.” 

“I didn’t get that impression tonight.” she wryly commented 

“Well” Bernie blushed before returning her gaze upwards. 

“What now?” 

“You tell me.” She said, unable to break eye contact with her new comrade. 

"I think I'll have that cigarette of yours if you don't mind."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to a 1920-1940s playlist while writing this chapter that heavily influenced the musical inspiration behind a few of the moments. Here are the song references should you want to listen while reading:
> 
> 'The Very Thought of You' - Al Bowlly - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8bw5h-WPYBQ  
> 'SIng, Sing, Sing' - Benny Goodman - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fhyhP_5VfKM  
> 'Stormy Weather' - Ethel Waters - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zywZUhaUqMo  
> 'Makin Whoopee' - Eddie Cantor - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cbcubbf3pDA


	5. The Train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A different kind of roll in the hay. Marooned together, will they bond or will fires surge? They discover a little more about each other and the enormity of what they are about to embark on.
> 
> Important to note that this is all loosely based on fact. All of the details about the war and locations in this piece are as accurate as I could make them without deterring form my intention for the plot. More than happy to answer any questions you might have.
> 
> Again, hope you enjoy. I really do love receiving comments so please leave one if you are enjoying the piece. 
> 
> See notes below for what's to come in the next chapter...

Like the carcass of a ship, hollowed and leagues beneath the surface, so too had London began to reflect as the turbulent end of 1940 cautiously groaned into the dark morning of 1941. The deafening silence of city streets now gave way to an even darker purpose and the once hopeful night sky opened to dispel a routine rain of fire and ruin. The blissful bubble of the wedding and the short glow of anticipation for the great and terrible duty that had befallen both women were quickly dismissed as the daylight bombings of September ushered everyone out of the city like moths from an extinguished flame. Suddenly doused in darkness, dazed and lost without purpose. 

Bernie had woken the morning after the wedding, sun and heat blazing through the curtains of her otherwise rudimentary hotel room. She opened her eyes to see only thick honey strands of hair blocking her view and an overwhelming heat she passed off as the echo of a rather memorable night. The smell of toast and fire encircling her senses lifted her from her daze. “I’m getting too old for this” she thought as she pulled the suddenly inconvenient weight of her lank extremities to sit on the side of the bed and finally opened her eyes to the blinding call of the light outside. Still in her slacks, her shirt and jacket scattered on the floor beneath her feet, she treaded over them quickly as she bee-lined for the bathroom to sate the sudden and desperate need for hydration. When had she last drunk so much she could not recall but the necessity of several glasses of whiskey in bed to compliment the wistful fantasy of delicious curves and an intoxicating smile haunted her morning reverie. Without reaching for a glass she stumbled for the tap and appraised her bloodshot eyes in the mirror before drinking her body weight in the sweet liquid. 

Without warning, like the lighting of a room or the unexpected ring of a telephone in an otherwise silent hall, Bernie fell to her feet, spilling water all over the basket weave tiles. She must have lost her footing in her pitifully hungover state as she hung onto the bathroom sink. Before she could indulge that train of thought she received her answer with the booming crash of window panes shattering into pieces and the violent shaking of an entire building in crisis. Her ears began to ring as she clawed across the floor to quickly throw her great coat on, fetch her bag and run out of the door. Luckily years of field work had prepared her for packing lightly. What she anticipated to be one moment of terror was met with what felt like hundreds of its brothers as the familiar grinding of bomber jets littering the vast morning sky replaced the otherwise peaceful welcome to the day. 

Barely dressed and unable to find familiarity amongst the now chaotic scene of civilians running holes in the carpet of the lobby, Bernie clasped her bag and searched the crowd for a familiar face. Whether it was the seizing fragility of fear coursing through her that was preventing movement or it was a kind of survival mechanism she had buried years ago, she didn’t know. What she did know was that as soon as she had stopped amongst the crying children, sweating mothers and flustered workers, someone seized her by the arm and began to pull her away from the now ample crowd being ushered by the last remaining staff into the wine cellar below the restaurant. Before she could protest she was being shepherded down a long service corridor, through the dimly lit kitchen emblazoned with copper where she swore she could still smell the remnants of canapes from last night’s festivities. She stepped out into what seemed to be a loading dock, or what was left of it, sprinkled in ash and rubble and engulfed in enough smoke to turn her quite off the habit. What she thought was just an old MT Ford wading out the attack (she’d recognise one anywhere), now started crawling towards her as she was piloted into the back by a pair of urgent hands. 

You could feel the shake of the fire stabbing the earth as they raced through the streets of London, dodging fresh pot holes and screaming past hordes of people racing for shelter. Bernie saw a woman carrying a suitcase in one hand and a small cocker spaniel in the other, unmoving as if cemented to the earth for fear she would reveal her invisibility otherwise. Her face perfectly reflected her own. Numb. Numbness spurred by sheer terror. Before she realised, tears were streaming down her cheeks as they drove on through the, now, deepening darkness. The smoke raised the city from its feet as the outer streets of London transformed into a ghostly map beckoning souls to dance amongst the now blinded stars with the apex of St Paul’s as the only beacon. Day quickly turned to night as the wailing of the sirens dimmed and the attacks diminished. The dizziness of the morning quickly returned as she rested her head upon the window of the truck, eyes still fixated on the chaotic scene around her. Pin points of sudden and dazzling white, burning ferociously and catching like a contagion spread through street after street from brick to brick then brick to wood and wood to great expanses of what was once green. 

*****

She couldn’t remember if she had fallen asleep or if she was suddenly pulled into unconsciousness but she was awoken by the jostling of the truck around her and something even more terrifying than the distant echo of the raid. Silence. She opened her eyes, realising she was still clasping her canvas holdall and great coat to her bare chest, and swivelled to look back out of the window that was now passing quietly oblivious fields of green and yellow. 

“Oh good. I thought you were for the dogs for a moment.” A familiar voice interrupted.

That voice. A flash of warm, damp red fabric, the smell of fresh cut gardenia and red wine brought her quickly back to sobriety. 

“How did I…where- Morven and Arthur, the guests...”she began to enquire, desperate for grounding.

“Safe. They've also been extracted, we assured Morven of that when we spoke with her. We’ll have plenty of time for more of your silly questions when we arrive and I don’t think I’m really the person to ask considering I am getting absolutely no assurance from ANYONE myself right now.” her counterpart projected, targeting the barely concealed head of the mysterious driver in front of them. 

“Silly question my arse!” She muttered as she eased her way back into an upright position and turned to her comrade.

“What was that?” Serena asked, perplexed by her colleague’s blatant inability to adapt to the situation they were currently in. She was expecting more of a macho army medic than a middle aged drunk with no external awareness what so ever. Not that she could talk on the two latter points. 

“Oh. No, not important.” She offered with a weak smile as they finally pulled up outside a train station far from the cries of the city. They were quickly hustled out of the van by a smoke drowned trench coat with a few huffs and into the stock carriage of an old goods and services liner. ‘Where are all of the passenger cars?’, thought Bernie as she threw her few belongings onto the hay clad floor. It wasn’t until the train started moving that she realised her and her colleague were alone in the equivalent of an evacuated barnyard. She threw her belongings into one corner of the carriage, pulled out her cigarettes and sat on the edge of the compartment with her legs hanging over the edge as the train began to slowly chug forward. 

“So where is it we are going exactly?” she inquired in between drags.

Serena disposed of a small tan leather suitcase, removed her Italian suede high heels and wandered over to sit by her colleague. As she did she pulled a silver flask from her breast pocket and proceeded to drink from it in haste before offering it to Bernie.

“Shameless.”

“Managed to pilfer some from the hotel before we left. Splendid timing if I say so myself.” 

Bernie took the flask from the woman, brushing her hand in the process and quietly chastising the blush that was now coursing over her neck and cheeks. 

“Shiraz! I thought you would have taken something stronger.” She scoffed after her first sip.

“Oh no, finding good shiraz is like marrying an honest politician, impossible and this- this is bloody good stuff.” 

“Ah! A cynic then?” she said as she took another generous swig and handed the flask back.

“A realist.” Her counterpart answered in mock seriousness broken by an indulgent smirk stretching from ear to ear. 

They fell into a contemplative silence as Serena polished off the last of the wine before tucking it back into her breast pocket. Watching the horizon of blaze disappear behind them; East directly to West you could draw a line of illumination like opening a door on a bright, unclouded morning. 

“It’s beautiful. I know I shouldn’t say it but for a second you could mistake it for twilight. I’ve always loved twilight.” the brunette whispered in a voice so soft Bernie didn't know whether she was the intended recipient of the comment. 

“We cling to familiar things in crisis. For safety. Something we are sure is real. Your love for twilight…that is real and grounding for you. The reality of that, however” she pointed, “ is not…yet. So yes, it is beautiful.”

Serena nodded in acknowledgment and blankly continued to gaze at the horizon, fixated as if tearing her eyes away would cause the sight to disappear completely like a mystic’s vision. 

“Arisaig.” She said, the hardened mask back on, as she wiped the dregs of the sweet liquid from the corners of her mouth before pulling a small pearl embellished mirror from her other breast pocket to reapply her lipstick.

“What?” Bernie asked, quickly realising she had been staring a little too intently at her colleague as she went through the fine and well-rehearsed choreography of her make-up application. 

“Where we’re going. Arisaig. A town the size of a post office. That’s where Churchill’s ‘finest’ will be trained. When did everything become so bloody formal? I don’t suppose anyone remembers the days of simply learning on the job?”

“Speaking of which. I’ve barely been given crumbs, is there anything you can tell me?”

Serena looked intently at her for a moment through squinted eyes, mirror still raised and uncapped lipstick poised moments form her lips. Bernie didn’t quite know what she was doing but maintained unblinking eye contact with her while she made her assessment, finding great difficulty in avoiding darting down to gaze at the remnants of shiraz still peaking under her fresh coat of lipstick. She rose and walked over to her suitcase, opening it and removing a brown leather satchel before returning it to Bernie without saying a word. 

“I’m going to have a nap. We’ll be travelling for a good day at this rate I’d say so…tuck in. It’s as dry as an old biscuit but your answers will be in there….most of them at least. It pays to do your homework.” And with that she returned to her suitcase, pulled what looked like an old rain mac and a shirt.

“Oh…and you might want to put this on.” With which she threw Bernie a silk white shirt with a peter pan collar and pearl buttons. 

“You brought this to do medical and military training in? You know we aren't being taught to make cocktails.” she scoffed. 

“I don’t skimp. It’s best you learn this now.” she retorted casting a glance back to her counterpart just as she began to undress. 

She turned back to the job at hand, an occupation keeping her from admiring the delicacy of the skin at the nape of her colleague’s neck, pitch of her surprisingly toned abdomen and dark red patches encompassing her taut nipples, slowly revealed as she pulled the coat from her shoulder and threw the blouse on like it had always been hers. How long had she had the scar intersecting her sternum? She thought before distracting herself with the importance of finding a comfortable space on the floor to curl up in. She fashioned herself a pillow from the rain mac and tucked in for the guarantee of a turbulent sleep. 

Once she had finished dressing, Bernie watched the brunette settle as she slowly came to recognise she had more questions about this woman than the task ahead of her. She had watched her dance the previous night, happy and as wondrously free as a child at play and yet this woman, the woman who had just appraised her with the cold severity of a naval commander, this woman who managed to find a kind of beauty in complete terror, this woman she did not understand. What had she done? What had she seen to have built a mask so impermeable that even the famed magnetic wit of Berenice Wolfe couldn’t penetrate it? If she was to work with this woman then she needed answers. The woman shifted, rolling onto her side to face Bernie with a heavy sigh. It was only then she realised she’d been inspecting her for much longer than necessary and proceeded to open the unlocked satchel and palm through the array of government correspondence, hand written notes and maps dotted with locations Bernie had only visited in passing and seen through the windscreen of an old Vulcan in convoys set for Calais. 

*****

As day drifted into night the slow chug of the train and presence of wine coursing through her otherwise empty stomach began to lull Bernie to sleep. Less than an hour later she was woken by a deep and guttural cry emitted from the woman lying in the hay across from her. Before she could return the paperwork now strewn all over her lap to its rightful place she leapt up and ran to her colleague’s side in an attempt to wake her from her distress. 

“Hello? Excuse me” she whispered as she cautiously nudged the woman awake. The brunette awoke as she let out another blood curdling cry and before Bernie could restrain her the woman was on top of her, knife to the pulse point of her neck with her other hand securing Bernie’s free arm to the floor of the compartment. 

“Qu'est-ce que tu veux?!” she yelled, eyes still glazed with sleep and a distant look telling Bernie that she wasn’t yet conscious of her actions. 

“S-s-s-top…p-please…wake up!” she begged straining against the sharpness of the blade at her neck and the woman’s weight fastening her to the floor. The changing of the train line brought a sudden heave of the carriage as it pitched to the side with enough force to throw the blade and carrier off her. Gripping her hand to her neck, desperate for air, Bernie turned to her counterpart as she awoke from her daze. Close enough to her to see the fear suddenly blazing through her, Bernie leaned forward stealing the knife from the woman’s grasp and holding it out against her.

“Wha – what the hell was that!?” Bernie demanded holding her ground despite the desire to retreat suddenly flooding her.

“I – I– I….bollocks, I’m sorry. I think I owe you an explanation. Please just put the knife down. I wasn’t intending to actually hurt you” she urged as she slowly edged her way forward like a zookeeper baiting a restless lion in its cage. 

“You had better tell me who the bloody hell you are and what is going on!”

“Yes well.” The woman said wringing her hands as she came to stop directly in front of her colleague. “You can call me S. Although many of the scamps you’ll unfortunately have to meet this evening like to call me "Foxtrot"…bastards the lot of them but I can’t seem to shake that one so try not to be encouraged. I've been working in British Intelligence for the past twenty seven years. I lead numerous operatives in the war to great success. I am unable to speak of them but I can assure you that is why I am here now and why I think what we are being asked to achieve is of great importance to our country...roger?” with that she extended her hand to take the knife back and replace it with a shake. 

“Yes-um…’roger’ I’m Ber – B. You can call me B. No nickname I’m afraid. Still getting used to all of this nonsense” She chuckled lightly.

“All of this nonsense?! All of this- I’ll have you know that this 'nonsense' is the difference between your life and someone else’s. I don’t suppose you know what the life expectancy of an intelligence recruit is…’B’? Hmm? Twelve days. That’s all" she paused at this, eyes welling, "I have lost dozens of colleagues from the most comprehensive of military backgrounds thanks to people like you who have no experience with what we do and swan in as a political 'flavour of the month'. So I’ll mind you to respect all of this 'nonsense' in future because this 'nonsense' is the career I worked so hard to build and out-live. All of this 'nonsense' is going to win us this war as it did the last and it will for every single one yet to come.” 

Bernie stood, mouth agape, a fuming response surging its way through her.

“Running for office are we? Great speech fraulein, but I’ll have you respect MY comprehensive military background now. The experience that has allowed me to build a life and career that will ensure you will be able to learn in a week what took me several years, a war and a broken marriage to learn. The career that has meant I have had to witness the death of not dozens at the hands of inexperience but thousands. So believe me when I say that if not for me, you won’t last a day in this operation let alone twelve. I have one week to teach you enough for you to pass off as my colleague and not my student. I have one week to teach you what the Army designates six months to teaching. Try playing with those numbers….then come and talk to me about respect.” 

“Right.” Serena stood in shock, frozen to the spot. Her usual quick fire responses fled to the hills and the overwhelming rush of fury now causing her to sweat and hyperventilate. 

“It really does pay to do your homework.” Bernie said, the final blow, nearly whispering as they stood only a breath away from each other obviously compelled forward in the heat of the argument. They both stood rooted to the carriage floor, neither of them willing to back down or break eye contact. Bernie’s eyes gave in and flickered down to Serena’s lips before returning her gaze. She was shaken from her reverie when she swore she saw Serena returning the look. As the gap began to close between the two, like moths blindly being drawn to the flame, the giant stock door of the opposing rail car door swung open, neither of them aware the train had even stopped moving. 

“Oh brilliant! You’re bonding I see. Bloody marvellous! Foxtrot!” A booming voice resonated throughout the car as a young keen-eyed blonde in khaki fatigues and matching visor cap, with a gun strapped to his back beamed up at the pair. Like a plane diving through a cloud, the two broke apart and turned to the young man. 

“Ah! Copeland! My friend, it is good to see you after all these – what is that?!” Serena jumped down off the train platform with her suitcase in one hand and suede heels in the other. 

“Oh this? A STEN they’re calling it, the latest technology. We stole it from the Americans before they could stop us. Marvellous it is. He kept us up until 3am the other night deconstructing and bloody rebuilding it over and over again. I swear I now know more about this stupid gun than why I’m even being made to use it.”

“Is that really necessary?” Bernie enquired as she stalked up behind the two who had looped arms together and were wandering out of the station and into another MT Ford (this time one emblazoned with the Red Cross of an RAMC Ambulance). 

“Not yet, but it will be…or so I’m told. Now lets get you to the house, I’m sure you’re starving and we seem to have escaped rationing for the most part of it yet so the rabbit is delicious and plentiful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: all recruits really did have a twelve day life expectancy. Unfortunately, hundreds or them did not out live this time but many incredible recruits did and you can read about a few of them here: https://www.historic-uk.com/HistoryUK/HistoryofBritain/The-Female-Spies-Of-SOE/ 
> 
> Bit of heat there. Please refrain from shooting at me with the slow burn. They may or may not be dealing with what happened on the train and sharing a room in the next chapter so things really start to pick up my darlings.


	6. Arisaig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the delay again, my friends. Once more caught up with life and work (the unstoppable forces).  
> This chapter should hopefully make up for *some* of my absence.  
> Again, please leave comments and kudos if you are enjoying it, it may be indulgent but it definitely helps move the work forward.

For the duration of the night they snaked their lightless way through the arid landscape, cutting a path through ancient woodland, past towering mountains whose white tips shone the way like age-old beacons of war in the unforgiving and cold expanse of the Highland glens. Their path guided by the waning moon, the brush began to engulf them entirely like a beast devouring its prey. In the distance Bernie watched as a light danced in and out of the undergrowth, ‘the nocturnal horizon poking its head through the trees’ she thought, soon coming to realise it marked the end of their journey and not the ever-darkening night. 

Out of the black the light began to grow until Serena could make out what it was attached to. A man in khaki fatigues approached the Victorian gate, torch in hand, and opened it for the truck to enter. There wasn’t a building in sight but the frenetic energy in the van was enough to prevent any of them sleeping a wink. Soon a rising group of turrets emerged from the towering brush before giving way to the silhouette of an ancient mansion, it’s inhabitants sound asleep as an ominous silence bewitched the grounds.

The young torch bearer showed them from the vehicle, hauling their few possessions into a dimly candle-lit entrance hall. The cold darkness around her and the overwhelming sense of the unknown finally cascaded over her. For the first time since the train, Bernie turned to gauge Serena’s reaction who was apparently already searching Bernie out in the darkness of the hall. They locked eyes. She was undeniably beautiful and it was undeniably the most inappropriate time to be exploring that certain path of thought. However, as the little moonlight trickled through the few windows on the mezzanine above them and shot a path down into the room, the light began to dance through the few loose curls now framing Serena’s sharp features, finishing at the damp collarbone where Bernie could see a bead of sweat slowly slip below the newly exposed flesh underneath her unbuttoned collar. The remnants of yesterday’s lipstick now seeping from the delicate line of her lips. They were in Scotland and despite being the middle of Summer it could not have been more than 14 degrees. Her mind toyed with the thoughts now floating in and out like dragonflies on a pond. She had most definitely found an adversary in the woman. A frustrating, stubborn, callous, wildly witty and infuriatingly beautiful adversary. Sod it. 

“Wolfe!” 

Her name echoed in the great expanse of the space and it was only then that Bernie realised she had lost her wits and sense completely for who knows how long, Serena now turning her attention elsewhere. She looked to the woman who had replaced the young recruit, a stout thing with a whip of a voice and a clearly excessive regard for her appearance. Bernie suspected she was a woman who was born wearing lipstick and would go to her grave as such. 

“This way please!” she boomed into the space. 

They were swiftly taken down passage after passage, whining floorboards below them and centuries of faces peering down signalling the great length of history the place held within its walls. Like something from a ghost story or a Bronte novel, the house was enchanting, of that Serena could be sure but all she could think of was sleep and the interaction she’d had with her colleague on the train. She was completely obnoxious and a horribly proud woman that Serena didn’t care for much at all, thank you very much. She was determined to get this bloody work over and done with so she never had to see the woman again. However, something intrigued her about this ‘B’, she couldn’t put her finger on it but she felt there was something she had yet to get to the bottom of in her partner and she was bloody-well damned if she didn’t find out what it was. For safety, of course. She couldn’t risk a threat to herself or the organisation and if there was something untoward about this woman she needed to find out. For the Operation, for H and for well, England, she supposed. 

The firm younger woman took them through to the west wing of the house and into what would have previously been the servant’s quarters. Smaller rooms with minimal furnishing and shared amenities passed them clinically clean and entirely empty.

“Ma’am, are we the first here? I thought we’d be accompanied by other-“ Bernie whispered.

“I can’t answer your daft questions. Gaskell will see you in the morning but for the meantime you’ll be here” she said as she directed them into one of the dark rooms. 

“The power has been shot to shit. Literally, from what I’m told. Target practice gone bad and now we’re all for the medieval. Candles and matches in the drawer. He’ll see you at 0500 and then you’ll start your SAB. I advise as much sleep as you can manage, he doesn’t abide excuses.”

Serena quickly shot Bernie a look, heart in her throat and pulse quickly exceeding the rate at which sweat was now pooling on her brow. She turned to the woman now quickly making her way back down the hall. God be damned if she was stuck sharing a room with the most impertinent woman in England. 

“I think you may have missed something, ma’am. Where will I be sleeping?!” 

“Very funny!” She shouted as she made her way back down to the reception hall and out of sight. Serena headed back into the room where Bernie was now placing lit candles on her small bedside table. She made her way to one of the cots, unlatched her suitcase and started removing the few items she brought with her. 

“For the importance of it all you think they’d treat their recruits a little better than some matches and a pair of camping beds.” Serena said as the silence started to grow unbearable. 

“Look, I’m about as happy as you are with the arrangements and I’ve been sleeping on the equivalent of a standard issue for years now.” Bernie retorted. 

“Right, well. Whether we like it or not we’re stuck together here so I’ll mind you to remember a few things for me….Doctor.”

“Fine.” 

“I shower in the morning. I like to keep a light on when I sleep and I don’t want you thinking that because of the preparations that you are free to speak to me about yourself or your life in anyway. I know all I need to know from your little spill on the train and I would greatly appreciate it if you could respect my space as I intend to respect yours.”

“Is it the dark or the monsters under the bed?” She was obviously getting under her skin. ‘What fun’ she thought to herself when she saw the woman stiffen and stop the choreographed movement of her unpacking. 

“I beg your pardon?!”

“The night light. For someone heading into a war zone, I find it a little concerning that something so trivial would shake your fort. Oh, but don’t listen to me…I’m just the political flavour of the month.” She said as she removed her boots and lay back against the wall behind her cot. 

Serena turned on her heel to face her counterpart, the anger now threatening to spill over entirely. What she found there was something she didn’t recognise. Instead of anger she met a pair of dark hooded eyes. Without any awareness, she began tracing her way down a long alabaster neck to a freckled collarbone and the long, surprisingly delicate fingers now slowly unbuttoning the cotton shirt she had forgotten was hers in the first place. She was aware of the silence, the way her pulse began to race again, the heat now flushing over her cheeks and neck and, what was the most shocking, the hunger that started pooling in the pit of her stomach.

“Yours I believe.” She said as she unfastened the final button on the shirt and held it out, unmoving, for her comrade to take. 

She was not lying to herself, nor was she completely aware of what was really happening to cause this surge of electricity between them but Bernie Wolfe knew exactly what she was intending to do to the beautiful and strong-willed dyed in the wool heterosexual in front of her. She hadn’t wanted to get a rise out of anyone so much since she met Jac and just look how that turned out. But, as she stood half naked in front of the woman, this was something that she knew was going above and beyond just poking the lion. What was she so desperate to encourage from her? ‘Just leave her alone, Wolfe’ she thought as she attempted to return the shirt to her colleague, one last olive branch before she was shot to shit in next week’s target practice. 

“I – you – it’s…thank you.” Serena uttered, unable to break the woman’s darkening gaze before she took the shirt from her hand, brushing quickly against soft skin before retreating back to her unpacking. 

“I could have waited. You should – you should put something on.” Was the response Serena mustered as the booming sound of her quickening pulse in her ears almost completely cancelled out her ability to form a simple sentence. 

“Desperate times and all that” Bernie retorted as she grabbed her kit and headed out the door. 

“Oh, and something I’ll have you remember. I shower at night.” She said as she left Serena, mouth-agape, shirt still in hand. 

“Christ.” Serena thought as the image of warm skin and the naked torso of a beautiful woman played like Swinging Saturdays on her mother’s Nickelodeon in her mind. Without thinking she brought the shirt in her hand up to her face and inhaled the salty scent of the woman she was quickly beginning to truly loathe. At least, that’s how she interpreted the new blue heat she felt almost constantly in this woman’s presence. Chocolate and cigarettes. She couldn’t deny that she smelt of long days in the sun and sleepless nights on the Mediterranean. It was exciting. There was something exciting about the smell, the woman and this strange game they seemed to be playing with each other. She would not let her win, of that she was certain. 

********

Bernie stood under the ice cold shower and let the rush of exhaustion flood over her. She pushed her hair back and drank in the cool droplets as her hands slowly slid down her tall frame before reaching the apex of her thighs. She found a delicious moisture there that she was certain had nothing to do with the shower. She stopped for a moment, hands bracing the taps, listening for other signs of life before returning to her previous posture. Her hand gripped the coolness of the tiled wall as her other began working around her sex. It didn’t take long before she gave into the spasm and the rush of water on cement hushed the guttural moan allowing her knees to buckle slightly beneath her. She fell to the floor of the shower, the image of a deliciously curvy brunette ringing out in the fore of her mind. She couldn’t return to that room. She’d have to face the real deal in moments again, completely compromised. Before she could do anything of the sort, tears began to pool in her eyes and flood down her cheeks. Had she completely lost her marbles?! She’d been forced back into a war zone within a matter of hours. Her home shattered and London left like a screaming child in the middle of a wasteland. She had nothing left and this new infatuation wasn’t helping anything. Her little display in the shower felt indulgent and grotesque in the shadow of everything that had happened and was going to happen over the following few weeks. She needed to collect herself and be professional. No more games. The training would be long and arduous and she needed to focus so this little flight of fancy had to end. She collected her things and returned down the hall to the candlelit room where she found the woman asleep on top of her cot, bed still made and fully clothed. Before being able to consider her actions she pulled the blanket off of her own cot, threw it over the brunette and softly pushed a curl back from her face, her usual furrowed brow now softened into something almost angelic in sleep. Bernie returned to her own cot and pulled her great coat over her for warmth before allowing the fatigue to overwhelm her. 

Serena shifted in her cot and turned to face the woman, the warmth of her hand tracing the hair from her face still dancing delicate memory on her skin. 

“I don’t know your name.” she whispered softly into the dark, hoping sleep had not consumed the woman opposite her just yet. She heard the squeak of the woman’s cot and a husky whisper sounded out in the thick silence. 

“Not regulation.” Bernie carefully offered.

Without a second thought Serena spoke into the darkness.

“Serena.”

“Serena.” Bernie whispered and the brunette thought she had never heard an utterance more beautiful in her life.

“Berenice. I prefer Bernie.” 

“Bernie it is then.” She uttered. A peace offering. 

And with that the great silence around them and soft exhalations pulled them into a great and hungry sleep.


	7. Fire at Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernie and Serena begin their training at Arisaig and someone from Bernie's past arrives unexpectedly...
> 
> Plot still absolutely avoiding anything canon. I've already written the chapter directly after this so stay tuned and leave comments friends :)

“And your mother, is she still alive?”

Serena was woken from her daze by another clinical jab from the perfunctory young, well-oiled psychologist now sitting in the matching aged leather armchair across from her. After being woken at 5am (not long enough after she had managed to fall asleep by her standards) by the shrill command of the stout brunette who had greeted them the night before, Serena had blearily padded, fatigue-clad, to meet the head of operations, Colonel Gaskell in the antique library of the once great mansion for their briefing. 

She glanced only once across to the mess of blonde tangle (that seemed to be exacerbated by little sleep the night before). She couldn’t help but feel assured that despite still holding strong resentment for the woman, their relationship had reached a new level of confidence the previous night. The trust she feared would never grow between them she could see was starting to peak through the cracks in the pavement. They knew next to nothing about each other and had just been subjected to an enormous state of crisis in each other’s company alone. They would need to get through many more together, Serena suspected, so she was pleased with this development. Pleased and enormously frustrated in equal measure at how a woman who had never worn a pair of fatigues in her life looked everything the part. She supposed it was her naturally athletic build and long, lean legs that did the trick. Why she was even considering these thoughts was enough to stop them as quickly as they started. 

The meeting with Gaskell was brief and to the point. They were to be commissioned in 4 weeks. Their training would consist of psychological, physical and practical components which they would cycle through on a daily basis, one after the other. In conjunction with the gruelling mainstream SOE training Serena would also need to pass the medical component. Gaskell emphasised that she would not be commissioned if she could not successfully pass off as an experienced attending physician well before the end of her training. News which she was sure made his normally cold sneer and rigid command crack with glee and made her comrade loudly snort with laughter. It was at that moment she turned to Bernie whose gaze was already trained to her. She had to agree, it was a little ridiculous to imagine she could be ready but there had to be a way around having to wield a scalpel and individually identify every nerve grouping in the human body in a sodding war zone. She could tell her colleague was sceptical but she’d be damned if she didn’t prove her wrong. It seemed to suddenly be of the upmost importance to Serena to prove herself to this woman. She seemed to be the only dastardly person in England who had no bloody idea what Serena Wendy Campbell was capable of but she was about to get the shock of a life time…or Serena was going to, proverbially, die trying. 

“Campbell?”

“Yes, sorry. Could you repeat the question?” She rambled, woken from her unnerving daze.

“Your mother, is she still alive?” 

“No.”

“Did you have a positive relationship with her?”

Here she paused. She knew psychological tests were an important component of military training. You had to be sure the pressure of high trauma scenarios wouldn’t break ones resolve and capacity to continue working but she hadn’t expected a sodding counselling session. The tight leather straps of the lie detector around her breasts and arm pinched a little harder as she squirmed against them. 

“No.”

“How so?”

“She brought me up with a cold hand. It wasn’t love. This is what makes me the best at what I do you’ll find.”

“Right.” He held her gaze for an uncomfortable beat before continuing “And you are not married.”

“No.”

“Divorced?”

“Yes.”

“Happily?”

“Oh certainly.”

“And Ms. Wolfe…what do you make of her?”

“Does it matter? I don’t exactly have a choice in the matter.”

“Answer the question Campbell. What do you make of her?”

As she was about to answer, the pin sketching a linear path across the parchment next to her started jumping and scratching its way across the page. 

“Right.” The bespectacled chap remarked with a small grin.

“What?” Serena retorted in an attempt not to relinquish her stronghold and give in to the truth of her reaction. 

“You seem to harbour some strong opinion about this woman I see.”

“I-it….she is a strong and independent professional who you have tasked with ensuring whether I bloody well survive a single day in this god forsaken war. I should bloody well hope I have strong feelings about this woman, don’t you?”

“Feelings?”

“What?”

“I said opinions. It seems you have strong ‘opinions’ about this woman. I never mentioned anything about an emotional inv-“

“Right, well. Can we move on please? I have very little confidence in this conversation being of any importance and if you keep me from firearms training I’ll have to call upon my rank… if you understand my meaning.”

“As a senior member of the SOE and previous MI5 it is my duty to remind you that if any emotional attachment is formed between recruits of any level then it is in my duty to make it known. If you understand my meaning Campbell.” 

“I cannot imagine for the life of me what you could possibly be referring to. Ms. Wolfe and I are to work together and because of that I must trust her with my life. That is all you are reading, Sir.”

“Right. I am sure it is.” He fixed her with a pointed gaze and a smirk Serena was sure he used as a weapon more so than any he could find in the armoury downstairs.

“May I leave?” she pointed.

“Yes. Yes, I think you can.” He responded, eyes still fixed firmly to her every move. 

She tore herself from the leather restraints and burst through the door, desperate for a gulp of fresh highland air. Before she could make her way down stairs the gripping sound of gunfire rippling across the estate caught her attention. She took to the closest window and saw Bernie, pistol in hand, firing round after round at wooden targets mercilessly suffering her attack. A warmth crept up her cheeks as she watched the woman aim and fire, hitting every target without fail. The sun took a moment to peer from its usual sombre Highland mask drowning Bernie in golden light, animating her rosy cheeks, golden locks and porcelain skin. She was one of the most beautiful things Serena had ever seen, something she failed to compute until that moment. After several rounds, she lowered her weapon and turned to hi-5 her applauding arms teacher before spotting Serena watching them from the window. She quickly ducked and headed down the staircase where she was met by the woman herself. Well, nearly totalled by the woman as she hurtled up the final flight of stairs and directly into Serena. She grabbed her forearm for stability as she noticed beads of sweat starting to pool on her forehead and became fixated by the warmth viscerally emanating from their sudden proximity. 

“I-sorry-you-“ Bernie stuttered. You couldn’t cut through the tension with a knife if you tried. She released her grip of Serena’s arms and retreated to catch her breath before continuing. “You-were you watching me?”

“Watching you? Wh-why in heaven’s name would I do that?” Serena cursed herself for not doing what she should’ve in the first place and made directly for her next lesson.

“Curiosity…I suppose.” Bold but it had to be said, she thought. 

“I believe the deafening sound of a pistol being fired would be the reason, so don’t flatter yourself.” She said to conceal the blushes resulting from her comrades infuriating ability to unearth her truth. 

“Thought you’d be used to that by now.” She regretted the words as they tumbled from her mouth, sharply inhaled and let her gaze fall to the floor.

“You never get used to it, but I wouldn’t expect you to understand that in the slightest.” She said as memories she’d been trained to control threatened to break the dam wall and tears pooled in her darkened eyes. 

“Serena – I. Right, well. They sent me to fetch you. That’s all.” Bernie submitted, still unable to look at the woman. 

“Perfect timing, I could do with shooting something right now.” she said as she pushed past Bernie and hurtled down the stairs.

Bernie chastised herself as she watched the woman fly down the stairs, a flash of red lipstick and bouncing curls, enough to make her onlooker squirm a little before moving off. She made her way to her Psychological Examination grinning at the acknowledgment that she’d manage to bury herself deeper under this woman’s skin. However, they had a long road ahead and she couldn’t let a little infatuation cloud her judgment when so much was on the line. 

*****  
In the early afternoon as the iced breeze rolled off the mountains and across the lake, welcoming in another bitter evening, Bernie made herself comfortable in what once was the great kitchen and heart of the home, now abandoned by all but an old hospital bed, a small medical cabinet and trolley. What little light that filtered through the old Georgian windows was supported by scattered candlelight giving the clinical hostility of the place a dark nostalgia. Bernie felt at home here, far from the throws of a bustling city hospital, armed with only the bare minimum, she loved the challenge of survival and was excited to introduce that to her companion.

She laid the tools she’d been provided neatly in front of her on the trolley. They had little time to delve far into the anatomical breakdown that would be required at any formal institution so she, with little structure or plan ,wandered over to the window to patiently await Serena, hoping she’d get away with the blatant lack of preparation.

Memory of the previous night suddenly flooded back to her as she saw Serena walking back up the front lawn from the mock shooting range. She had unbuttoned her fatigues and tied them at her waist revealing a soft silk shirt underneath marred by spattered sweat marks and dirt. Her brown locks now tied back in a silk scarf drawing Bernie’s attention directly to the delicate length of cream neck and down to the collarbone and further to the curve of her breast beneath. Her breath quickened as she felt her core begin to throb once more. She turned from the window, keeping her hands firmly grounded on the cool stone that framed it. As she concentrated on slowing her rapid breathing, Serena entered the make shift surgery. 

Bernie stared at her as she, slightly out of breath, stepped into the afternoon light illuminating their workspace. 

“Well? Let’s get this over and done with then.” Serena barked as she began to take in the space around her. 

“Get this- Oh! This, yes. Right! Well.”

“We’re not here to babble Wolfe. You have three weeks to make me proficient. Get to it please. What is that?!”

“Those are Hemostatic Forceps for – well this is a basic set of instruments required for surgery. With the luck of being in a large hospital you often have far more to work with but in the field you need to be able to do nearly everything with a scalpel and your hands. You likely won’t have the luxury of more than that.” 

Serena paled as the reality of what she had to do suddenly hit her like a stack of books falling from a shelf.

“Serena, you need to trust me here. I know what I’m doing and I will make sure that you do too. Remember we are not asking you to become a medical professional we just need you to imitate well enough to pass. I will take you through very basic anatomical structures, how to open, close and make judgment calls but…I need you to understand something first.”

“Fire at will…” she whispered, barely concealing her flooding anxiety. 

“There will be a lot of bloodshed. Every person that comes in to that hospital will likely have traumatic injuries on an extreme scale. Now, I know you’ve seen what it’s like to be in a war zone before but you need to know when a life can be saved and when to let go. If you get emotional, if you attach yourself….we will not make it through. Do you understand me? I need to hear that you understand and that you can handle this.”

Serena looked up and realised Bernie was fixing her with the same penetrating gaze she had when they’d crossed paths on the stairs earlier that morning, a gaze only obstructed by her eyes darting down to her lips like a moth quickly beating towards a flame. It was moments before Serena realised she hadn’t answered. 

“Ye-Yes, ofcourse.”

Bernie turned away again before responding, busying herself by tidying the few instruments she had in front of her. 

“Good. Well, lets get started then.” 

*****

Over the next few days they began to fall into a rhythm and like ships in the night only saw each other for meals where Bernie preferred to read the latest from Europe and Serena sat quietly by the wireless praying for anything but another Brahms. During the day they were taken through routine firearms training, weapons construction, assault courses and psychological interrogations to ensure they were ready for any and all obstacles they’d be faced with. In the early evenings they would both retreat to the kitchen and Bernie would take Serena through assessing when a leg needed to be debrided, the symptoms of pulmonary sepsis and the rank of every medical professional in city and field hospitals alike. They began to systematically work well together and Serena was beginning to enjoy learning about the expansive world of what it took to become a combat medic. She found herself pouring over John Lizars, Joseph Maclise and Henry Gray, learning anatomical structures more keenly than the best practice for building a wireless radio transmitter from your nylons and a hair pin. 

“A rabbit?”

“Yes this is the closest thing I can get my hands on for your practice. We try to save lives, not take them away and that applies to animals as well naturally. This rabbit, however, will be our supper so I see no harm in having you truly exercise what I’ve taught you over the past week on our friend here.”

Bernie handed Serena the scalpel and she began cutting the rabbit lengthwise along its belly from the head to tail, her shuddering breaths emitting loudly into the immense room. 

“You are not married?” Serena asked a little more severely than she intended. 

“What?!”

“You mentioned on the train that you were no longer married. I’m-ah!” she yelled as the sharpest point of the scalpel pierced her finger.

“Careful, you’ll need to remove everything from the lower abdominal cavity first and then close her up. Not bad so far Ms. Campbell.”

“Right. So-so you aren’t married then-“

“I thought we weren’t doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“If I’m correct, did you not blatantly state” at this she stood and postured, keeping her blood covered hands above elbow height, “ ‘I don’t want you thinking you are free to speak to me about yourself or your life’ correct…?”

“Yes well, I am doing everything I can not to think about pulling faecal matter out of this animal in front of me so just answer the bloody question Wolfe.” 

“If it’ll help you concentrate. Yes, I am a proud member of the embittered ex-wives club. My husband was in the military much like my father and his parents. We were happy. Well, I thought we were happy. We were busy and didn’t see each other often so when we were together we were happy…I suppose. He is involved now, in the SOE. You can never quite escape them. He never understood why I kept choosing to work, to fight, why I never wanted children.“

“Welcome to the club, I am also a card carrying member. My husband, he was…”she paused her movements and looked up into the darkness of the room, “He was not a good man, the jealous type. He took his shortfalls out on- on other people. A real brute who wanted a wife, not a soldier, not a fighter and definitely not someone who, who…had a child.” At this her hands began to tremble “He…he-“

Bernie could sense Serena begin to tense in an attempt to not release what was desperately surging forward. 

“You have a child?” Bernie pressed at which time the scalpel Serena was holding dropped to the floor, creating a loud and permeating bang that was sure to draw attention. Serena looked at the scalpel, tears starting to roll down her cheeks then quickly snapped up to Bernie who was already staring at her with what could only be described as genuine concern. 

“Why did you dance with me that night?”

“What? I-“

“At the hotel...you didn’t know who I was, why did you dance with me?” she was starting to become significantly more upset, eager to avoid Bernie’s enquiry, “ANSWER ME!”

“Serena I-“ she shifted forward and reached for Serena’s shoulders to calm her.

Suddenly a bloody-curdling scream barrelled from the corridor as the door flew open. Two young men in civvies were carrying a khaki clad woman, viscerally pained by what they could quickly assume was shrapnel to the leg. 

“There was a drop on our base before we could get her into the plane. We had to come a day early…We’ve given her enough whiskey to tranquillise a horse but it seems she could drink Fletch and I under the table if I could hazard a guess. They said you were a doctor, is there anything you can do?” One of the men quickly explained.

Bernie stood there, eyes wide, unable to move. The woman bleerily lifted her head to look up at her.

“ALEX!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments and kudos if you are enjoying, friends :) I love writing for these characters and writing this period. My medical knowledge is completely non-existent so I apologise for the few mentions of terminology in this one. As I said before, another chapter will be out to you this week!


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